


A Fate Better Than Death

by ba_lailah



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Post-Canon, Pre-Femslash, The Problem of Susan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23853238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ba_lailah/pseuds/ba_lailah
Summary: There was a jolt, and a horrible screeching tearing sound, and then Susan was no longer in the back of a taxi on the way to hear the London Philharmonic do Mahler's fifth. Instead, she was sitting on a log in a wood full of snow."Well," she said, looking around. "Finally."
Comments: 17
Kudos: 72
Collections: What Fen Do (Instead of Going Outside), When Death Loves Flamingos





	A Fate Better Than Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VagabondDawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagabondDawn/gifts).



> Technically this fic involves major character death, but she doesn't stay dead, so don't let that bother you.

There was a jolt, and a horrible screeching tearing sound, and then Susan was no longer in the back of a taxi on the way to hear the London Philharmonic do Mahler's fifth. Instead, she was sitting on a log in a wood full of snow.

"Well," she said, looking around. "Finally."

But then she looked around again and thought, _No, this isn't Narnia._ It wasn't what one would call a _friendly_ wood. Not unfriendly either, strictly speaking. But not Narnian.

It was a bit old-fashioned of her, but she liked to get dressed up to go to the concert hall. Tonight that meant a peach-colored skirt suit—a look she'd stolen from Princess Diana, she wasn't ashamed to admit—and sensible flats, or at least they had been sensible in London. They were not the sort of shoes one likes for walking through snowy woods, especially if one is a lady of a certain age who's no longer accustomed to such activities. She was already shivering. There was nothing for it but to start walking along what looked like it might be a path, toward what looked like perhaps slightly sparser trees.

She had just begun to really miss her brothers and sister even more than she missed the pair of good hiking boots in her closet when she heard the welcome jingle of horses' tack, and women's voices. "Hello!" she called. There was no telling whether the riders would be friendly, but anything was better than freezing to death.

The voices stopped, but she heard the horses come closer. Soon she could see them through the trees: two gorgeous beasts, sturdy and well padded against the weather, with cloaked riders. She waved gratefully and went to meet them. 

The riders put back their hoods. Two women about Susan's age, perhaps a little younger, and clearly with all their wits still about them. One had a long thick braid of pure white, the other short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. They regarded her with some shock, and she realized how unlikely her polyester was in a place ( _is it Narnia? it can't be_ ) where riders and their horses were garbed like something out of a book of Arthurian legends.

The women looked little alike, but they had the closeness of sisters. The white-haired one bore an air of royalty, so palpable that Susan automatically inclined her head in the nod of one queen to another. The dark-haired one's eyes narrowed at that. The white-haired one looked thoughtful.

"H-hello," Susan said again, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm very sorry, I appear to be lost—"

"And likely to freeze to death," the bodyguard said. "How did you end up here all alone, dressed in... that?"

"Magic, probably," Susan said.

The women glanced at each other. "Whose magic?" the queen asked.

"I don't know," Susan said, relieved that she wouldn't have to argue the point. "Is... is Aslan known here?"

The queen shook her head. "No," she said. "But let us take you back to Winterfell and clothe you properly. Questions can wait."

It was embarrassing to be hoisted up on a horse—if she were dressed properly for riding, she could have swung up on her own, creaky old bones and all—but Susan was too grateful for the loan of the bodyguard's cloak to think too much about whether her nylons would survive rubbing against the saddle.

Winterfell turned out to be an enormous enclosed complex of towers and yards. By the time they reached it, Susan had introduced herself and learned that she rode with Queen Sansa Stark and the queen's sister, Ser Arya, who seemed disinclined to be called _princess_ or _lady_ or any of the other things a queen's sister would ordinarily be called. The first time Susan called her "milady," Ser Arya corrected her to "ser," which was how Susan learned it was a title and not a name. She gave her own background readily, and was unsurprised to learn that the Starks knew nothing of either London or Narnia.

At Winterfell she was put in the charge of a sweet young maid called Evalyn Snow who bustled her into a hot bath and then into a long chemise and a woollen dress that fit surprisingly well. Evalyn was mystified by her old clothes, and Susan instructed her to put them away, as disheveled as they were from the ride through the woods. "If you bury them they won't decay, and if you burn them they'll make a nasty smell," she said. "And... who knows, I might need them again." Though she rather suspected she would not. The jolt of the taxi hadn't felt at all like magic; it had felt like something the magic had saved her from.

For the first time, she wondered whether her siblings weren't dead, but had gone _somewhere else_ , and not in the way the vicar had meant it when he'd said they were in a better place. Had they gone back to Narnia one last time? Perhaps the pull of it was less strong on her, after all this time, and so she'd ended up not quite home and not quite there. Truth be told, she would have preferred to be at home, or to be in Narnia. But she would certainly rather be in Winterfell than crushed to death in the back of a taxi, peach skirt suit and all.

Queen Sansa received her in a well-appointed solar where a fire crackled in the hearth and another maid served steaming cups of something that wasn't the black tea Susan was used to but served the purpose well enough. "Tell me about Narnia," the queen said, and Susan did, as honestly as she could. Her memory for recent things wasn't always so good, but she could readily recall those long-ago days at Cair Paravel. Names that hadn't crossed her mind in ages came spilling from her lips: Tumnus, Caspian, Archenland. And with them names that she thought of every day: Lucy, Edmund, Peter.

Sansa nodded soberly, and handed Susan a handkerchief when she wept. "I too have lost brothers," she said. "I've only Arya left now."

The tea grew cold and was refreshed. Sansa gave Susan the most rudimentary history of the Seven Kingdoms, and Susan understood why Sansa had frowned at the mention of a lion and nodded along to the story of the White Witch. Lions were not favored in Winterfell, that much was clear. Susan supposed she'd have to get used to wolves instead.

Evening fell and they went to a larger hall for dinner. Winterfell was, if not egalitarian, informal; at the long table, where Susan was given the seat of honor and introduced as Queen Susan of Narnia, she met Arya's daughter and grandchildren, the children's nurse, and the Winterfell castellan and his son. They were curious about her and she answered their questions as well as she could, still adjusting to the strangeness of being in this new place. But most of all her attention was captured by Sansa, whose reserved grace and quiet words did nothing to disguise her immense strength of character and will. _She is a true queen,_ Susan thought. _She is the sort of queen I could have become had I had fifty years to do it in._

As Sansa rose from the table, she turned to Susan and said, "You are welcome here for as long as you'd like to stay."

"Thank you," Susan said. "You're sure?"

"Quite sure." Sansa gave her a gentle smile and went out, and the rest of the party dispersed. Susan followed Evalyn to her room—Winterfell's corridors were endless—and reluctantly accepted her assistance with undressing. Oh, it was hard being old, she really did not like it. Coming back from Narnia to London had made her a child again. Couldn't this trip have done so as well?

 _But then Sansa and I couldn't be friends,_ she thought, and then she laughed at herself. One good thing about being old was that she no longer bothered to lie to herself. Susan fell in love rarely, but when she did, it was immediate and unmistakable. She already knew she wanted to be more than just friends with Queen Sansa. What remained to be determined was whether the queen felt the same way—and how it would go over around here if she did.

Susan tried to get comfortable in the unfamiliar bed. She thought about her cozy little flat and wondered who would adopt her cat or water her plants, who would phone her friends with the sad news and cancel her subscriptions. She would miss those friends, and all the comforts of London life. Winterfell was unlikely to supply her with romance novels or crossword puzzles or calcium supplements. The minstrels weren't a patch on the London Phil. But there were horses to ride and woods to tramp around in, small children to dote on, a handsome queen to... get to know. A new world to explore. And days or months or years of precious, precious time.

When she awoke, she was still in Winterfell. She smiled and rose to greet her new life.


End file.
